


Coming home

by evenmyneck (stopmopingstarthoping)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, Fluff, Holidays, Kissing, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 07:15:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28347504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stopmopingstarthoping/pseuds/evenmyneck
Summary: Claude thinks about his relationship with Lorenz as he drives back to surprise him for the winter holidays.
Relationships: Lorenz Hellman Gloucester/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 2
Kudos: 31





	Coming home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [itsrosencrantz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsrosencrantz/gifts).



The road courses by under his wheels, and Claude taps his fingers along to the music absently. Almyra’s humid this time of year, and it takes a couple of hours on the road, after the border crossing at the Throat, for the air to get crisper, colder. Familiar, and he smiles realizing that no matter where he is now, he’ll probably always be thinking of another place fondly.

Isn’t that just the way, though? As the sharp mountain passes of Fodlan’s Throat give way to the older, rolling hills of Riegan, he gets the distinct feeling he’s moving toward home, not away from it.

The 505 isn’t too busy, especially given the time of year. He’s lucky, he guesses, as he weaves around a car barely doing the minimum and shakes his head, shifting back into gear and scanning the horizon.

Or maybe the gods are smiling on the reason he’s eager to return.

Music streams from the radio, and he cracks a window. It’s colder already, but that too is a sort of welcome.

The sharp spires and tall towers of Derdriu are visible from the highway, and a smile quirks at his lips in acknowledgement. He’s got a lot to thank that city for, but it’s not his destination today. It does occur to him that it would make for a fun trip away sometimes, and he ponders favorite museums and out-of-the-way bars and places that would be enjoyable to spend a few days. He’d like to show Lorenz his old haunts, sew together the somewhat disparate pieces of himself in a way. 

The six-lane highway narrows to four, narrows to two. South at Daphnel, and then it’s just all highway and truck stops and cows until Garreg Mach. Claude turns the music up and the cruise control on, and his mind drifts just a little. A safe amount. He thinks about all the people he’s been, in all of these places, and the feeling that he’s seemed to really find himself back here in Garreg Mach. It’s a good thought, a rich tone to end the year on, and Exit 1185 comes up with a fond familiarity. Anticipation builds as Claude slows and swoops the car right to leave the highway. 

The last time he’d been able to spend time with Lorenz, it had been a quick, stolen weekend that they’d stretched out into leisure the best they could. It had been at the minimal apartment Claude keeps in Almyra, and he still remembers the gold of the sunset glinting off the amethyst of Lorenz’s hair, strewn across his pillow; the warmth of the sand underneath them as they’d lounged on the beach; the sticky, slow, sweetness of their lovemaking after a long day spent doing absolutely nothing.

Claude shifts in his seat. 

And then, the next four weeks of separation, of late-night video calls and intermittent texts, loving and saucy by turns. He misses Lorenz physically, of course; the long lines of him wound around him, graceful limbs a comfort in their shared bed. The tender touches in Claude’s own occasional late-night wakefulness, even when Lorenz himself barely seems awake. The quiet presence or soft chatter over morning tea.

But it’s more than that; Claude misses the quick mind, the sharp humor, even the sometimes-acerbic wit, and he’s admitted to himself he wants Lorenz close more than once every month, more than once every week. 

He’ll fix that soon enough. For now, it’s enough to be here, and main roads give way to one-way city streets. It’s only late afternoon, but the winter weather means the light is fading already, and fat flakes drift down to catch the light. 

It’s snowing, but lightly, and Claude does something that’s maybe a _ little _ silly. He pushes the button, and the top comes down on his car. He can’t help it; he wants to be immersed in the weather, in the season, in the buoyant feeling that happens when he hits the Garreg Mach skyline. Humble as it is, it holds several things more dear than any others, and he's pretty sure he could pick out the precise window on the exact floor in the right building from here—the one that holds the most precious of all. 

Lorenz just happens to be gazing down at the street, momentarily distracted from the briefing papers in his hand, and...what are the odds? A gleaming white convertible, top  _ down _ of all things in the Ethereal Moon weather, wind ruffling the hair of an impossibly handsome man. 

Lorenz beams, and the report is forgotten (for the moment, of course, he has  _ responsibilities _ after all). He runs to the window like a child excited about St. Cichol, and even presses his palms against its cold surface, and then immediately laughs at himself for the gesture.

He watches the car park on the street, and then turns back, pretending to work. In reality, he tugs at his clothes, straightens his hair, pretends he’s not just excitedly waiting for Claude to make his way upstairs. 

His heart is pounding, and he taps his fingers happily on the surface of his desk while he dashes off a few more emails. Perhaps some routine correspondence gets a more effusive adjective or prettier turn of phrase than it really deserves, but can Lorenz be blamed, actually?

The light of his heart is here, and he can barely stay in his chair.

Claude appears in the doorway with a casual knock, his own face-splitting grin in place, and—yes, he’d definitely planned to just “swing by” and surprise Lorenz. Lorenz looks up, and he knows he can’t keep the expectant affection from his face and pretend it’s just Linda from Accounting. Claude laughs. An errant snowflake tumbles from chestnut curls to a wool-clad shoulder, and Lorenz is up, tumbling into Claude’s arms.

Claude laughs again, surprised and fond, even as his hand is coming up to smooth Lorenz’s hair. “All right, you knew I was here. Who gave me away? Was it Hilda? I made her promise….”

Lorenz’s face is already buried in Claude’s coat. He smells like crisp outside air and snow and the wonderful sandalwood-and-pine scent of him, and Lorenz breathes in. Lorenz doesn’t move his head to speak, and his words come out slightly muffled.

“No one gave you away except yourself, you ridiculous man. There is a list of exactly one person with a flashy white car, who would drive around with the top down in the middle of winter…”

“Who is  _ also  _ rakishly handsome and headed straight for your office…”

Now his head pops up, to offer a retort. “...and you are on it. Insufferable.”

He says this, as he is already tipping his face toward Claude’s to be kissed. His lips are still cold, but they warm quickly at contact with Lorenz’s. 

“So you saw me from the street, huh?” Claude’s fingertips smooth strands back from Lorenz’s face and tuck them behind his ear, and his expression is all warm, liquid fondness.

“Indeed.” Lorenz barely murmurs the word; he’s just drinking in the sight of Claude this close: the little gold flecks in fern-green eyes, the unfair length and thickness of curling dark eyelashes. His own fingers find a gentle touch at Claude’s cheekbone.

“Guess it was fate, then.” Claude doesn’t actually wink, but there’s a wink in his voice, and it makes Lorenz huff the faintest wisp of a laugh back down at him. 

Lorenz kisses Claude again, thoroughly, searchingly, longingly. Just enough to pull a little heat from him, to make him wind himself tighter in Lorenz’s arms, and Lorenz pulls back just enough to focus before making his demand.

“It’s always fate, with you, you incorrigible, gorgeous fool.” His fingers spread over the wool of Claude’s coat. “Take me home immediately.”

Claude pops an eyebrow. “Immediately? Shameless.” There’s a drawl at the edges of his voice, and Lorenz knows he’s missed him, too, despite the teasing.

Lorenz huffs. “You have been gone for a  _ month _ , sir. I am being positively restrained.”

What’s not restrained, however, is the sharp grab to denim-clad buttocks, and Lorenz regrets absolutely nothing. Claude’s cackle drifts down the hall as Lorenz sails after him with a completely innocent air.

**Author's Note:**

> For an amazing human and a truly skilled writer. You are the BEST and I adore writing, reading, and yelling about Claurenz with you always. I'm lucky to know you!


End file.
